Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (14 page)

Relieved beyond measure Rufius showed him the bowl. “We are from Britannia and we are trying to find new markets for our goods. We would like to trade with the people of this land.”

The two villagers spoke a few words and then turned the bowl around. “It is a fine bowl. Perhaps too fine for us.  We are but poor fishermen.  What could we trade with you?”

Rufius recognised the lie but went along with it. “What have you that you do not need?”

The man smile and picked up some of the sand, “He let it trickle through his fingers, “Sand!”

Rufius dutifully laughed. “Have you any dried fish?” They did not need fish but he had to start somewhere. When Cnut had Rufius’ words translated he grinned and nodded. Again, he shouted over his shoulder and four of the men went up the beach. “Where is the nearest big village?”

The older villager pointed north. “Meldorf, a day up the coast. They have a jetty and they trade.” He leaned forwards. “And they are peaceful.  You know?  They are not pirates.”

“Thank you for that.  We are peaceful and we do not wish to lose our cargo to pirates.”

The man nodded and said something to Cnut who smiled sympathetically. “This side of the coast is safe but it you round the north coast to the dark sea then beware for there are dragon ships.  They have oars and are swifter than you.”

Cnut’s men had brought enough fish to feed the ala but Rufius would have been a poor trader to refuse any. “We will call again in the spring and, as token of our friendship will you take this?” From his satchel he took out a delicately carved fish. One of the troopers who had a skill with carving had spent a week carving small items out of some jet they had acquired in their raid on Manavia.

Cnut’s face lit up at the precious gift.  Rufius reasoned that it would probably be the most valuable item in the whole settlement. He took it and clasped Rufius’ arm. The older villager translated his words. “He says, Gaelwyn of the Brigante that you are a friend and will be welcome here again.”

“Dried fish!” Hercules was disappointed in the trading skills of Rufius. “Next time I will send Furax.  He is much more skilled at trading than a horseman.  Dried fish indeed! You may not have noticed Rufius that  there is a sea out there with fresh fish!”

Rufius sighed and shook his head. “The purpose is not to make a profit but to find Marcus.”

Hercules was not convinced.  “If we are traders then we must play the part.  Fortunately you have found us a port which means I can do the trading and you can ask the questions.”

Meldorf was a very small port but it did at least have a jetty.  There were not only fishing boats, which were drawn up on the beach, but also small traders most of which were smaller than
The Swan
.  The only berth they could find was at the end of the jetty which was covered in a glistening film of hoar frost. Leaving the First Mate in charge Hercules,, Rufius , Gnaeus and Furax all headed towards the glowing buildings at the end of the wooden structure. Furax carried a leather bag which contained another of the pots. There were fewer of the usual idlers on the jetty as the wind was blowing hard and it was not a pleasant place to stand. Rufius walked up to one of the men and spoke. “We are traders. Do you have a harbourmaster?”

They looked blankly at them but one of them pointed to a large hall lying close to the end of the jetty. They nodded their thanks and headed towards it. The door opened as they approached and a well dressed but corpulent man opened. He gestured for them to enter. When they were inside they felt the heat immediately.  As their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, for there was only the light from a solitary fire, they could see that there were many men and they were all drinking or eating. Rufius surmised that it was a communal building.  The man spoke to him in the same language as Cnut had done.  “I am Gaelwyn, a Brigante trader and this is my captain, Hercules.”

To the relief of all of them the man understood them. “Welcome, I am the headman of the village, Harald Haraldsson. Welcome to Meldorf. We welcome all traders here.  How did you hear of us for you are the first Brigante who have sailed here?”

“We met some fisher folk, at Cnut’s village.”

There was immediate relief and sympathy on the headman’s face. “Ah Cnut, they are a poor people you will find better goods to trade here. What sort of goods do you have?” Like a market magician Furax took out the pot with a flourish and he handed it to Harald. “A fine pot. You can always tell quality.  You Brigantes do make good pots.”

“Tell me Harald Haraldsson, if Brigante ships do not call here how is it that you can speak our language so well?”

“Ah that is easy.  We have many Brigante slaves.” Perhaps Gnaeus was not as good an actor as Rufius for his face darkened and the headman went on quickly. “Oh do not misunderstand me we do not take slaves, we buy them at the markets.” When Gnaeus, after a sharp dig in the ribs from Rufius smiled, the headman continued. “They are good workers and I found it easier to learn the language. Well how many of these do you have?”

Hercules spoke for the first time. “We have a healthy consignment but we do not know what you have to trade with us yet.  What do you have which is as valuable as this pot?”

The two men wandered to a nearby table where Harald ordered some beer. Rufius, Gnaeus and Furax split up to eavesdrop on conversations and gather as much information as they could.

Later that night, as they rode at anchor, away from the jetty, they compared notes and they all had the same information. The pirates and raiders all lived on the east coast of Uiteland.  They also discovered that the slave markets were also there but there had been none for three months and one was due. After trading some of the pots for some amber and timber Hercules had decided to anchor in the roads.  As he had said to Rufius, “That Harald seemed pleasant enough but I wouldn’t put a bit of theft past him. Besides we have the information we need.”

“We do indeed; we have to go to the very place Cnut warned us not to go, into the lair of the pirates.”

Chapter 8

Marcus had been tending to the horses making sure that the new acquisitions were as comfortable as the original ones. Cato had pranced around the enlarged enclosure whinnying, stamping his hooves and, generally, showing off. The stallion was now used to Marcus and he made for him as soon as he came in sight. Part of that was due to the fact that Frann had found some old wrinkled apples and carrots and Marcus had been giving them as a treat. The sons of Trygg had managed to stay on the backs of the ponies now that they had saddles and reins. A cynical person would have said that Marcus had done that to ingratiate himself with the family but he had done it because he enjoyed teaching people to ride. He had however made himself indispensable to the family and Trygg’s sons were his biggest allies; they listened with rapt attention to every utterance from their Roman slave. He had still to discover a way to escape his trap, it was a honeyed trap, but it was a trap nonetheless. The winter solstice had been fourteen days earlier and the days, while not any warmer were slightly longer. The door of the hut was open and he saw Drugi and Frann awaiting him. They both had a happy look on their faces and Drugi kept glancing Marcus’ way while speaking to Frann; he wondered what their conversation was about.  However Marcus was pleased that they got on so well. It made the domestic arrangements work well.

“What are you two gossiping about? I think Frann is a bad influence on you; you are becoming an old woman.”

Frann affected an outraged expression.  “And you are calling me an old woman?”

“No what I meant was…”

Drugi laughed, his whole body rippling with waves of guffaws.  “Oh the two of you… you do make me laugh. If this is what it is like to be a family, perhaps I should get one.”

Frann walked up to Marcus and took him by the hand. “Speaking of families…”

Marcus had not the first idea to what she was referring and he looked at her with a blank expression on his face. Drugi put his arm around Marcus’ shoulder.  “You know, Roman, for an intelligent man you are sometimes slower than a snail.  You are to be a father, Frann is with child.”

Drugi left the two of them embracing. He would need to let Trygg know so that Lars could be warned off at long last.  Both Drugi and Marcus had had to watch for the increasing visits of the scarred rapist who took every opportunity to come by the horses and the hut.  Others came by to look at the new addition to the tribe but Marcus and Drugi knew the real reason.  Lars’ visits were deliberately threatening and the leering lascivious looks he threw Frann’s way made Marcus want to strike out at the hulking brute.  It had angered Drugi to see Frann cowering in fear inside the hut. But they were slaves and no matter what Lars did they could not retaliate; to strike a warrior would have resulted in a sever punishment, possible death. Marcus and Drugi knew that their valuable was outweighed by the honour of the warriors.

That night as they lay in the hut Drugi brought up the unpleasant truth they had both avoided. “This alters your chances of escape now Marcus.”

“I know.”

“Escape?” Frann had not known of this and it both surprised and excited her.

“I had planned to escape with you on Cato and ride to the west coast and find a boat.” His voice drifted off as he realised how ridiculous that sounded.

Frann was appalled.  “Go! Go now! I will hold you back and you can escape.”

“Do you think I could leave you here? No we will go together.  It may take longer than I would have hoped but you and my child will return to the land of Brigante and I will return with the Sword of Cartimandua.”

Frann hugged Marcus whilst Drugi looked over to the island of Hjarno-By. “I would like to see how you can do so with the sword which is now about the Chief’s waist and spends each night close by.”

Marcus shrugged.  “If I knew how I could do it I would have done so but I will find a way.”

When Trygg discovered the news it was as though his own son had found an heir.  “This is great news my Roman. You will become a great warrior leading my horsemen against the Suebi.”

Marcus hated deceiving Trygg who had only shown him support and kindness.  He would desert him n a moment. Marcus’ training of the Tencteri had gone well.  None had managed to beat him with the rudius nor had any managed to outshoot him with a bow.  Marcus knew that Drugi could shoot far better, but Drugi was a slave. Two or three of the warriors had also shown that they could ride although the sons of Trygg were far better. Marcus was torn; he knew he should return but he felt a strange allegiance to the Tencteri and its dynamic king.  He had not seen the hawk for a while and he just awaited the next message from the Parcae and Macro.

The snows had not fallen for a few days and there had been a slight thaw when the Suebi suddenly attacked, an unexpected foray in the depths of winter. Marcus and Drugi were feeding the horses when the hawk appeared.  Both men looked to the skies and then to each other.  The strident cries of the hunting bird alerted them both.

Drugi looked at Marcus. “It is your brother.  What does it portend?”

“It cannot be good.” Marcus glanced over to the pregnant wife who stood by the door of the hut.  Could he ignore a warning such as this?  And yet it was the cry of a hawk! He felt a pain in the chest. “Let us take Frann and the horses into the citadel and ask the commander to keep a watch.”

Drugi looked at the Roman he now called friend and nodded.  Marcus slipped a halter on Cato as Drugi opened the gate of the enclosure. As he led the stallion out, closely followed by the other horses and ponies, Marcus shouted to Frann.  “Gather our belongings we are heading for the citadel.” Frann knew Marcus and she knew Drugi; more importantly she trusted both of them.  She did not know why there was such urgency but she knew that it was not trivial and she gathered the essentials they would need.

The guards at the gate looked in alarm as the horses and the slave family entered the gate. The headman strode up to Drugi. “What means this?”

“There may be danger.  Sound the alarm.”

Were it anyone other than Drugi and the Roman the headman might have faltered but Drugi was a legend and the Roman had saved the king.  He turned to the sentry.  “Sound the alarm.  Close the gates.”

The sentries all looked towards the forest but could see nothing. As silence descended the headman looked at Drugi.  Was he the victim of some enormous prank? Suddenly one of the sentries shouted, “Suebi!” and they all looked out to see a horde of Suebi warriors hurtling out of the forest towards them. It was the first time Marcus had seen these fierce warriors who seemed to have a yellowish hue to their faces and loped along like some kind of animal.  The bristling weapons showed no uniformity but the war hammers, axes and swords were familiar to Marcus.  Some of the curved blades were new to Marcus and he mentally began to prepare himself for combat.

Although the ditches had been deepened and lillia strewn Marcus knew that the garrison could not withstand an assault. He turned to Frann. “Find somewhere to hide.” To Drugi he said, “Get every archer on this wall and have the women boil up kettles of water.”

The headman next to Drugi looked as though he was going to burst into tears. “There are too many.  Where is the chief?”

Marcus pointed to the island.  “That is where he is with the warriors.  We need his help.”

“I will go myself!” Grateful for the chance to escape the headman ran off towards the gate closest to the port and fled to safety. Marcus shook his head.  He had seen other senior offices panic in the same situation. He turned to the sentry next to him. “Tell the men to keep their heads down and not to fire until ordered.” Such was the authority in his voice and the reputation that he had gained that the sentry obeyed instantly. Drugi reappeared suddenly with a dozen men with bows. Marcus unslung his bow. “We are going to be the difference between the Suebi winning and the Tencteri surviving.  I want us to hit every warrior that we see.  Aim for the gut and keep firing until your arm drops or you run out of arrows.” As the thirteen arches went to the ramparts Marcus yelled, “Bring the boiling water to the ramparts and await my command.” In the distance Marcus could hear the screams of the Suebi as they raced towards, what they considered a soft target.  In the east Marcus could hear the noise as Trygg tried to embark warriors who, an hour earlier, had been drunk. Marcus knew that they had a long hour. “Without turning his head he shouted, “Drugi, if I fall, stop them from breaching the wall. If we keep them on the other side then we have a chance. We need to hold on until the warriors can reinforce us.”